


Not Another Coffee Shop AU

by tomybabyboywithlove



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 12:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13341309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomybabyboywithlove/pseuds/tomybabyboywithlove
Summary: The barista has been purposely writing Steve's name wrong on all of his coffee cups, but is that all he's writing?Obligatory coffeeshop!AU





	Not Another Coffee Shop AU

First, coffee. 

Steve’s head was filled with static, his eyes refusing to open further than a squint and limbs feeling as though they weighed a hundred pounds each. He thinks, maybe, an eight am class on a Monday was not the best idea he’d ever had. A glance at his watch told him he had fifteen minutes until that class started.

First though, first coffee. 

There was a soft chime as Steve pushed open the coffee shop door, stepping inside and letting the warm air and smell of coffee wrap him up in a comforting embrace. Music played  softly over the speakers, mixing perfectly with the gentle hum of conversation. 

Despite the early hour there was already a steady stream of people in the coffee shop, either lining up to make their orders or seated with coffee already in hand. Everyone trying to get their caffeine fix before starting their day. 

Steve fell into line, staring up at the board over the counter. No matter how hard he stared he could not get himself to focus on the words, mind blank, like it was stuck in a veil of fog. Even the few words he managed to focus on long enough to read remained meaningless to him. 

A gentle nudge broke him out of his daze, the person behind him prompting him forward to order. 

“Jesus, sorry.” Steve mumbled, stepping up to the register. “Guess I’m not all the way awake yet.” Rubbing a hand over his face Steve looked again at the menu, willing the words, any of the words, to make sense. 

“It’s fine, happens to the best of us.” The barista said, his voice sounding far away. “What can I get ya’?” 

“Yeah, um...can I get…” Steve started, but his mind was completely blank. He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring open mouthed at the menu board, but it was long enough for the barista to prompt him. 

“I’m gonna guess you want some coffee?” The barista supplied. 

“Yes, please.” Steve sighed, a wave of relief rolling through him. “Thank you.” He said, and finally turned to actually look at the barista. 

Steve’s hand itched, a sudden, desperate urge to draw this man seeming to overcome him. It wasn’t even so much that he was attractive, though to say otherwise would have been a lie. There was something else though, a little glisten of something just below the surface, which  _ begged  _ to be put to paper. It made his breath catch in his throat and his heart pound in his chest and for a moment it completely consumed him. 

And then the barista was talking again, pulling him back to the present. “No problem.” He reached for a cup, the biggest they had, eyes still locked on Steve. “Can I get a name for this coffee?” 

“Oh, uh, Steve.” 

“That a statement or a question?” 

“A statement. My name is Steve.” 

“If you’re sure.” The barista shrugged, still smiling, turning his attention to the cup in hand. Steve couldn’t see what he was writing, only that it was quick and messy, and then just as quickly he was passing it to the other barista. There was no more banter as Steve payed and stepped aside, letting the next customer in line step up to the register. 

It didn’t take long before his name was called by a fierce looking girl with flaming red hair. She looked at him over the top of the cup, smiling cryptically as she slid on the hot sleeve before handing it over. 

Across the side was written  _ ‘Steve?’ _

\---

When Steve returned to the coffee shop his eyes swept first to the front counter, searching out a wave of soft brown hair and a chin carved of stone. The barista had been on his mind for the last three days, not really an obsession but a  _ something.  _ A something that he did his best to tuck to away in the back of his thoughts, but which managed to leak its way into the margins of his notes and spilled all over the pages of his sketchbook. 

It was this something that kept him from throwing out the coffee cup. The same something that made him duck into the coffee shop on his way home from his Thursday classes. And the same something which made his heart skip a beat when he saw the barista behind the till. 

It was also the same something that made him feel like a  _ fucking  _ teenager. 

It was stupid, Steve knew that it was stupid, that there was no reason to feel anything for a man he’d talked to for all of two minutes. Unfortunately, it didn’t make him stop feeling it. 

His hands shoved as far into his pockets as they would go, bag slung over his shoulder like a weight pulling him into the ground, Steve stepped up behind the only other customer in the shop. He kept his eyes firmly on the menu, not really reading it but using it as an excuse to look anywhere else but at the barista. The few glances he took made his cheeks grow hot, and the something in his heart sing. 

The person in front of him stepped away from the register, shoving their wallet in their pocket as they went.

Steve’s legs felt like rubber, making the few steps he had to take feel like a million. His mouth was a desert, his stomach danced, and he felt like an absolute idiot. 

“Hey, what can I get for ya?” The barista asked, giving Steve a smile but making no real indication that he remembered him at all. 

Which, of course he didn’t remember him, there wasn’t any reason for the barista to remember him, but Steve still felt disappointed. Shoving his hands further into his pockets, shoulders hunching forward, Steve stared at the countertop as he ordered. “”Large coffee. Black.” 

“Sure thing. Steve?” He saw it out of the corner of his eye, the barista’s smile shifting from polite to teasing. 

Steve finally looked up at the barista, the something in his heart drumming a loud and unignorable rhythm. This close, Steve realized he’d not done him justice at all, his sketches not even half as beautiful as the actual thing. “Yeah, it’s Steve.” He couldn’t help the small smile that broke out onto his face. 

The barista’s smile widened as he reached for a large cup with one hand, pulling the marker from behind his ear with the other. A few strands of hair pulled free when he pulled out the marker, and Steve wondered what it would be like to reach up and tuck it back. “You sure? You don’t need to phone a friend?” 

Part of Steve, the stupid teenage crush part, thinks maybe the barista was flirting with him. He  _ hoped  _ the barista is flirting with him. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Think you can spell that on your own or do you need some help?” Steve maybe flirted back, smiling wide. 

The barista laughed quietly, turning his head to focus on the cup in his hand. “I think I can handle it.” He said as he scrawled on Steve’s cup. 

The rest of the exchange was all business as Steve payed and stepped over to the pickup counter. 

Today his cup read  _ ‘Steave.’ _

\---

Trips to the coffee shop slowly began to work their way into Steve’s regular routine. They weren’t planned, really, but everytime he had more than a few minutes of free time he seemed to find himself back there. A gravitational force which kept pulling him back. 

After two weeks of this steadily increasing presence in the coffee shop (and his steadily increasing caffeine consumption,) Steve finally learned the barista’s name. 

The barista smiled at him when he stepped up to the register, already reaching for a cup and his pen. “Large coffee, black?” 

“You remembered. Impressive.” Though after two weeks of nearly daily visits, it might have been weirder if he  _ didn’t _ remember his order. Steve reminded himself of this, reminded himself to not get too excited. 

“Of course I remembered. Steve, right?” And with this question he peeked up from the cup, a small smile on his face, teasing. 

Steve couldn’t help the grin that took over his face. The barista had made a game out of absolutely never spelling Steve’s name right. “Yeah, that’s S-T-E-V-E, by the way.” 

The barista’s smile widened before putting on a mock serious expression. “P-U-N-K. Got it.” He began to scribble on the cup, keeping it angled so that Steve can’t see what he was writing, and then passing it on to the other barista behind the counter. 

Steve rolled his eyes, but the smile was still plastered on his face. “Right, and I guess yours is spelled J-E-R-K.” He says, handing the barista his card. 

“Damn right.” The barista said, smirking. When he handed Steve back his card and the receipt, their hands just barely brushed against one another, and Steve hates himself for how elated it made him feel. Steve moved to step out of line when the barista said, almost as an afterthought; “It’s Bucky, by the way.” 

“Excuse me?” Steve turned back to the register. 

“That’s my name. Bucky.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Happy to be of service.” 

Steve was about to ask exactly what sort of service he’s providing when the person behind him cleared his throat, and he remembered that he was in a coffee shop in the middle of the day, and this barista, Bucky, was working and  _ fuck. _ Steve’s cheeks grew hot, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, hastily stepping out of line. Bucky shot him the biggest shit eating grin before turning to the next customer in line and giving him a polite “And what can I help you with?” 

Today, Steve’s cup read ‘ _ Punk. _ ’ 

\---

Steve had exactly five dollars and thirty seven cents in his checking account. Commissions had slowed to a halt and while he’d been searching for a job he hadn’t yet found one that accommodated his class schedule. His Ma sent him money when she could, but it wasn’t like she made a lot as a nurse. After helping pay for Steve’s college and then her own bills on top of that, there wasn’t really much to spare. And no matter how bad it got, Steve would not ask his mother for more money. He wouldn’t do that to her. 

For the past two weeks Steve had been subsiding almost exclusively on ramen noodles and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It wasn’t the best way to survive, but it was doable. Part of Steve’s problem was that he spent far more money on coffee than he should. He knew it was stupid but he desperately wanted to see Bucky, and honestly his impulse control was not that fantastic. 

Slowly, he’d been getting to know Bucky more. He learned that Bucky was an engineering major, that he attended the same college (no matter how much he looked, Steve never spotted him around campus.) He’d also acquired a rather impressive horde of coffee cups, unable to bring himself to throw any of them away. They were all lined up along the back of his desk, names facing out, none of them his.  

He ducked into the store, knowing Bucky would be working, and knowing that he had just enough for a small black coffee. When he stepped up to the register Bucky shot him a warm smile, already reaching for his regular cup. 

“Uhm, no, sorry.” Steve said quickly, before Bucky could grab the cup. “Just a small today.” Steve could feel his cheeks heating, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Bucky’s eyes. 

Bucky paused, looking him over, before continuing to reach for the large cup. 

“No, Bucky, I…” Steve started, and he felt like he’s going to break. “I can’t afford that right now, okay?”

“It’s on the house.” Bucky said, scribbling away on the cup before handing it to the next barista down the line. 

Steve reached for the cup as it was handed along, but Bucky was too quick and Steve’s arms too short. The red haired barista took it from Bucky and pulled it further from Steve’s grasp, the same cool attitude as always. Briefly, Steve considered the benefits of climbing over the counter and getting the cup back, but even he could admit that might be taking it a bit too far. 

Instead, he rounded on Bucky, shooting him a glare. Shame and embarrassment churning like tar in his belly and rising up, manifesting into anger. “I don’t need your charity.” 

“It isn’t charity.” Bucky said, and it seemed to be his turn to avoid Steve’s gaze, eyes trained on the register as he ideally pushed buttons. “It was me buying you a drink, because that’s something people do for the people they like.” 

Steve said nothing, but the weight in his stomach seemed to sink lower, pulling him down. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say, wasn’t sure what Bucky meant when he said ‘like,’ it felt almost too much for Steve to hope it meant what he wanted it to mean. 

“Honestly, if you don’t accept it I’ll probably be scarred for life by the rejection.” Bucky added, with a tiny one shouldered shrug. 

And that was something Steve could respond to, jokes and teasing the primary language in which they communicated. 

“Well in that case I’d better accept.” Steve said, and his voice  _ did not crack _ . “I’m gonna return the favor one day though.” 

“I’m counting on it.” Bucky said, and Steve thought he was about to say something else, but the bell over the door let out a cheerful ring as someone walked in, pulling them both from whatever moment they’d been having. 

Steve mumbled a goodbye, stepping out of line. His drink was already done when he got to the end of the counter, held out for him by the red haired barista. She was giving him a look that he thinks was maybe supposed to mean something, but before Steve could even consider inquiring she was turning to make the next customers drink. 

His cup said ‘ _ Steve ♡ _ .’

\---

Steve’s lungs screamed as they struggles to pull in air, his bag slung over one shoulder and his inhaler clutched in one hand. He did not stop to use it though, couldn’t pause in his headlong dash across campus to his next class. He usually had time between classes so that he didn’t have to rush, but he’d had to meet with a different professor and time had gotten away from him. 

That’s when he heard it, the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, a sound he would have recognized anywhere. Bucky’s laugh, loud and wonderful and so full of joy, drifining across the lawn. 

Stopping, Steve searched out its source, desperate to catch a glance. When he spotted him though, he and the red hair barista were tangled up in eachothers arms, wrestling in the grass, both heads thrown back in laughter. Steve’s heart sank.  

Suddenly, every look she had ever given him makes sense. 

His lungs, still burning from the recent running , constricted further until finally he had no choice but to pull the inhaler to his lips. 

Steve tried to remind himself that he had no reason to feel so crushed. It wasn’t like he and Bucky were dating, or even really friends if he was being honest with himself. They’d never even talked outside of the coffee shop. Sure, they’d joked around but, it didn’t mean anything...none of it had meant anything. 

Steve turned, did not want to look at them anymore. He felt stupid being so hurt, and for having gotten his hopes up in the first place. 

\---

Steve didn’t go to the coffeeshop for an entire month. He couldn’t really afford to go and with finals just around the corner he needed to focus more on school work anyways. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that whenever he thought about seeing Bucky it felt like there was a hand around his heart, squeezing. 

Which, he had no right to feel, he knew, because it wasn’t like there was even anything between them. He felt pathetic, like a middle schooler who had been dumped for the first time but he didn’t even get the excuse of actually having been dumped. It felt, almost, as though he’d lost part of himself. Which was ridiculous.

Steve began to avoid even passing by the coffeeshop, adding five minutes to his morning walks just so he didn’t have to see it. 

It made his feel like a coward, and a child, and Steve hated every moment of it. He also hated how, despite everything, he still wanted to go to the coffeeshop. He still wanted to see Bucky, and joke with him over the register, and pretend that maybe they could have had something. 

Despite everything, the something inside him still sang whenever he thought of Bucky. 

So finally, after a month of avoiding it completely, Steve decided to go back. 

The soft twinkle when he pushed the door open was comfortingly familiar, like he was being welcomed home. On instinct, his eyes shot to the counter, seeking out that familiar wave of brown hair. He hated the way his heart sank when he saw Bucky wasn’t there.

Steve considered leaving, going home and pretending he’d never set foot in the coffee shop again. But the barista behind the counter had already noticed him and it would have been weird to just turn around and leave. Plus, the red hair barista was there too, and she was eyeing him expectantly. So Steve walked up to the register, ordering his regular coffee and trying his best to pretend that everything was perfectly fine. He’d stepped out of line and was waiting for his drink when he heard someone shouting his name from across the room. 

He turned to see Bucky coming out of the staff room, one arm raised above his head as he called out a greeting. Seeing him maneuver his way across the shop towards him, Steve considered trying to hide but he still hadn’t gotten his drink and there weren’t really enough people in the shop to make that feasible. 

“Hey.” Steve said once Bucky got closer, giving him a small wave. He forced his mouth into a small smile, and wished that the ground would open up under him and swallow him whole. 

“Hey. It’s been awhile.” Bucky said, and smiled wide. Steve hated how much he loved it. 

He turned to stare at the counter so he didn’t have to look at Bucky, shrugging. “Yeah, finals, ya know?” 

“No, yeah, I get it.” 

The both fell silent after that, Steve shifting his weight from one foot to the other, unable to stay still. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see Bucky still standing there, waiting too, but for what Steve didn’t know. 

When they called Steve’s name and he moved forward to grab his drink Bucky moved forward too, leaning over him so that his chest pressed against Steve’s back, and grabbing the drink from the red hair barista’s hand. The contact made his heart hammer in his chest, but the calculating look the red haired barista was giving them made a ball like a fist in his throat. 

Bucky stepped back enough so Steve could turn and face him. “Awe, they spelled your name wrong.” Bucky fake pouted, turning it to show him the ‘ _ Steve _ ,’ written across the side. 

“Not everyone is as creative a speller as you.” Steve said, snatching his coffee from Bucky’s hand. 

“You love it though.” Bucky teased, smirking. 

Steve didn’t bother giving that a response, just rolled his eyes. His body was still filled with a complicated mess of emotions but with each teasing prod from Bucky it got just a little bit easier. 

They stood silently for a moment longer, but it was less awkward than before, like Bucky had broken through some sort of barrier. 

“Anyways, I should probably…” Bucky said after a moment, jerking his head towards the door. 

“Let me buy you a drink.” Steve said before he even realised it was coming from his mouth, before he realised how that might sound. “I mean, just because I owe you one and all. I told you I was going to return the favor.” He added, backtracking. 

Bucky eyed him for a moment, like he was searching for an answer. Steve wasn’t sure if he found it, but he finally answered. “Yeah, yeah okay. That sounds nice.”

Steve told himself not to get so excited. He did anyways. 

They went back through the line, Steve paying for Bucky’s drink, some incredibly sugary monstrosity that’s more like a dessert than a coffee. When the red haired barista handed it to Bucky she raised her eyebrow at him, and Steve wondered what silent question she was asking. 

Steve followed Bucky to a table, and wondered if this was a good idea. 

Conversation, at first, was a little difficult; not having the easy flow that had made him so comfortable before. But then Bucky was launching into a story about of group of customers they’d had the other day and there was something about him that just drew Steve in like nothing else could and suddenly things almost felt like they did before. Steve couldn’t help but get pulled into the story, laughing at all the right cues and hanging onto his every word. 

“So, uhm, where have you been?” Bucky asked after they’d been talking for awhile. He was playing with the rim of his cup, looking anywhere but at Steve. 

“Like I said, finals were kicking my butt.” Steve explained again. “And then I got a job at the library, so, you know.” Steve shrugged. 

“Right, right, yeah.” Bucky nodded his head, and then cleared his throat. He set his cup down on the table, shooting Steve a smirk. “I just thought you might have gotten sick of me or something.”

He was joking, but the way he was looking at Steve made him think the answer was probably more important than he was letting on. “Of course I’m not sick of you.” Steve said, smiling. “Even if you are a little hard on the eyes.” 

“Ha ha.” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. He was smiling too though. 

They sat quietly for a moment, a comfortable silence falling between them. It was broken, very abruptly, by Bucky asking “Hey, can I see that?”

“Huh?” The change of pace caught Steve off guard, and he turned to see what Bucky was pointing at. The blue sketchbook poking out of his bag. 

“Your art. Can I see it?” Bucky asked again, already starting to make a grab for it. 

Steve thought of what was in that sketchbook, of the page after page of sketches of Bucky. Somehow, Steve thought Bucky might find that a little creepy. It was a little creepy. Steve quickly pulled his bag into his lap, and out of Bucky’s reach. “No!” 

“Sorry! Sorry. That’s just my personal sketchbook, is all.” Steve said, hugging his bag to his chest. 

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t seem too offended. “Is that where you draw all your porn?”

“Shut up.” Steve shot back. Steve opened his bag further, digging for his class sketchbook and shoving the other down in the process. “Here.” Steve said when he found it, handing it to Bucky. 

Steve sipped at his drink while Bucky leafed through his work, watched as he looked at each piece like it was a puzzle he’d like to solve. Finally, he closed the book, sliding it back across the table to Steve. 

“You’re a really a really amazing artist, ya know that?” Bucky said, and for all the world he sounded completely serious. 

Blushing under the praise, Steve shrugged, mumbling a soft thank you.  v

“I’m serious, Steve.” Bucky insisted, leaning forward, like it was extremely, incredibly important to him that Steve believe what he was saying. 

“I appreciate it, Buck.” Steve said, and he felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin.

They moved on to lighter things, talking a bit more before they had to part ways. Steve was surprised to see he spent two hours in the coffee shop. It had felt like forever, and no time at all.

\---

After that things returned mostly to how they were before; with Steve drinking way too much coffee and the two of them trading banter over the register. They didn’t interact outside of that again, Steve doing his best not to overstep any boundaries. 

Steve had just gotten home, a warm cup of coffee in his hand,  _ ‘Stevie, _ ’ scrawled across the side. His roommate, Sam, was going out just as he was going in.

Sam stopped in the doorway, eyes zeroing in on the cup in Steve’s hand, before giving him an exasperated sigh. “Are you serious?” 

“What?” Steve asked, squeezing his way past Sam to get inside.

“Our room is being overrun by these coffee cups. Ask him out before we’re featured on hoarders.”

“I told you, it’s not like that.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Sam gave the cup in Steve’s hand another look before turning his gaze back to Steve, eyebrows raised. Then he turned and continued out the door before Steve could say anything in retaliation. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve sat at his desk, nudging a few coffee cups out of his way so he had room to work. He pulled his sketchbook from his bag, flipping it to a clean page and began to draw Bucky, wanting to get down every detail of how he had looked today while the memory was still fresh. 

He lost himself in drawing, his hands now familiar with the lines of Bucky’s face, the curve of his jaw. It was comforting to draw Bucky, but also incredibly infuriating, none of his drawings ever seeming a fraction as good as the real thing. 

Steve suspected there would always be a part of Bucky to he wouldn’t be able to project onto paper. That Bucky was too bright, too vibrant, to really be captured in his art. 

Steve also suspected that he would never stop trying. 

When he was done Steve set down his pencil, and instead picked up is coffee cup, more to have something to hold than anything else. He began to fiddle with the sleeve, wanted his hands to have something to do as he looked over his work. As he fidgeted with the sleeve it slipped down the body of the cup, and when Steve went to push it back he noticed writing which had not been visible before. 

He immediately recognized the handwriting, the space around him littered with examples of the same messy scrawl. Steve picked up the cup, turning it in his hand so that he could properly see the writing scribbled across the side. 

It was seven numbers. A phone number. 

Steve’s heart pounded frantically in his chest, and for a moment the whole world seemed to stop and it felt as though his head was being held underwater. 

And then just as suddenly everything seemed to be going very fast, as Steve jumped for his bag, digging through so that he could pull out his phone. He typed the numbers in with shaky fingers, double and then triple checking that they were correct before finally hitting the call button. 

And only then did he really stop to think about what he was doing, and then doubt began to creep it. He heard the first ring and he considered the fact that is may not even be Bucky’s number. The second, and he was asking himself who else’s number it could possibly be. The third, and it could be a customer service number he’s required to write on every cup. The fourth, the fourth...the fourth and someone was picking up!

“Hello.” Said a voice that Steve immediately recognized as Bucky’s, and relief flooded through him. Relief which was immediately replaced with anxiety, as he scrambled for something to say, berating himself for not having thought of something to say before calling.

“Do you have any idea what fucking  _ time _ it is?” Bucky snapped after Steve went too long without speaking, and for the first time Steve thought to maybe glance at a clock, 12:01 reflected back at him in neon green. 

Oh. Shit. 

 

“Jesus, Buck, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry, I didn’t even think to look at the time I am so sorry. Look, I’ll let you go. Again, I am--” 

“Steve?” Bucky interrupted his rambling apology, sounding quite a bit more awake than he had a moment earlier. 

“Uhm, yeah. I hope it’s okay I called you. I found your number on the cup, and…” Steve shrugged, even though Bucky couldn’t see him, unsure sure how to convey all of the things going on it his head. “I hope it’s okay that I called.”

“No, no yeah, it’s fine. That’s why I put it on them.”

“Them?” Steve asked. “How many of them did you write your number on?”

“Oh, uhm…” There was a pause, and Steve heard Bucky clearing his throat. “All of them.” 

Steve cast a glance around his room at that, taking in the army of coffee cups, all of them apparently with Bucky’s number hidden under the sleeve. He felt like an idiot. 

“I’ve been getting so much shit at work about it too. I don’t think I’ll ever live this down.”

Thing about that made Steve smile fondly, amused by the thought of Bucky’s friends teasing him, and how maybe a blush spread across his cheeks. Then he remembered the glimpse of red, and the arm around Bucky’s shoulders and waist. 

“I thought you and that red haired girl..” Steve started, unable to make himself finish. 

“Nat? Oh god no. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love her, but she’d chew me up and spit me out.” 

“Oh, but I saw you two at the school...rolling around in the grass.”

“That was Nat beating my ass because she’s secretly a middle school boy.”

“Oh...I guess asking you out for coffee would be a bit of an empty gesture...would you maybe wanna grab some lunch instead.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the best thing I've ever written, but it's been sitting in my drive for six months and I've finally had to come to terms with the fact that I am not going to fix it and I may as well post it. So, uh, here you go. 
> 
> Comments are always greatly appreciated!!


End file.
